


Putting up with it

by Cinnamaldeide



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Cats, Don’t copy to another site, Episode: s01e08 Fromage, Everyone is a cat, Grooming, M/M, Minor Injuries, Revised Version, Season/Series 01, Shy Will Graham, Unresolved Emotional Tension, aesthetic included, cat behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamaldeide/pseuds/Cinnamaldeide
Summary: Will always sees the lion in the room, and Tobias certainly doesn’t look like a meek house cat.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 89





	Putting up with it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [will_lecter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/will_lecter/gifts).



> Many thanks to [will_lecter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/will_lecter) for having offered the initial prompt, and to [Regina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverqueen) and [Another_lost_one](https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_lost_one) for having brainstormed with me and then beta read this work, which will probably be included in a book I’m planning to publish ❀

  


There had been something sinister and claustrophobic about the stale odor in  _ Chordophone_, however grand and imposing the string shop had appeared from the outside. Moving his first steps inside, Will had felt the distinct stench of old and organic, underneath the wood and leather.

It had been familiar to his adept nose, hadn’t seemed particularly suspicious to Will, until the owner had greeted him at the threshold, elegant and pristine with his long, black tail politely tucked around his waist, and his dark, velvety ears had twitched minutely at the sight of police uniforms and badges.

Will had felt his hair stand on his arms and spine, an instinctive response to fear and unease associated with the presence of a predator in the room, and had known that the catman was dangerous, more akin to a quiescent panther than the average domestic cat.

The strong sense of wariness hadn’t been enough to keep his attention from his untimely auditory hallucinations, nor to prevent the death of his escorting agents, but Will had managed to descend into the nauseating, dimly-lit basement, vertical pupils expanding into large pools of black, and shoot Tobias Budge in the ear.

Will had grazed his own and temporarily deafened himself in the process, but the wound had incapacitated his target and possibly given his next victims more chances to save themselves. As it so happened, it was Hannibal Lecter that, in a matter of hours, faced those sharp fangs and claws. He survived the brutal assault, although the same couldn’t be said for the patient that had voiced his suspicions about the deranged musician in the first place.

Will was glad that his psychiatrist had prevailed in the fight, as he learned upon his arrival at the crime scene. Jack had used the term with little hesitation, detachment on his sandpaper-dry tongue, but Will walked in the office thinking about long conversations on feral felines and sensitive psychopaths. It felt wrong to see Hannibal amidst broken glass and evidence markers.

The quiet catman was teary-eyed and likely concussed, light-brown fur uncharacteristically matted and ruffled on his nape, wide bloodstains on his three-piece suit and a split lip, but he still found a small, lingering smile when their eyes met.

“I was worried you were dead,” he simply said, and the admission left Will stunned.

Hannibal had confronted and defeated a serial killer, had covered himself in bruises and injuries, had taken a life with his own hands and would live the rest of his own with that awareness. He had seriously risked  _ dying_.

But he had been worried about Will.

The words elicited an uncertain guilt, tightened his chest with anxiety and tension and  _ relief_, and the sight of Hannibal, whole and alive, gradually untied the taut knot in the pit of his stomach that Will hadn’t even realised was choking him from within. It was harder than Will anticipated to take his eyes off his dishevelled friend, however unfamiliar his bearing and painful to look at, however striking and urgent to address the corpse of his aggressor on the floor, mere steps from them, like a gruesome offering at the altar of his self-preservation instinct.

Will looked at his wide, lucid eyes, at his tail gently swishing under the seat of his chair, and sensed a kind of frailty that never before had related to Hannibal in his experience.

He offered to drive the harmed catman to the hospital for a check up, which Hannibal firmly refused, and then to the police station to have his statement taken, which Hannibal graciously acquiesced to instead, and couldn’t avert his gaze from him for the entire duration of the sitting.

Hannibal had witnessed the murder of one of his patients, killed a vicious predator in his workplace, and still held his ears straight up and forward while delivering his deposition. His stoicism was unshakeable, and Will envied the catman just a little bit for it.

“I think your car can stay where it is for a couple of days. Or I can take it back to your house if you prefer,” Will broke the silence, ears twitching in nervous apprehension. His gaze didn’t stray from the asphalt road along the way home. “But you should rest,” he added.

Hannibal remained mute on the passenger seat, but nodded in assent.

Will didn’t press him for words, although the quiet was daunting. Hannibal looked pensive, understandably worn out. There were small cuts on his face that hadn’t been cleaned.

When they reached their destination, Will lingered on the threshold, suppressing the urge to hover and fuss and extend further aid in whatever capacity Hannibal might have required, at the risk of coming across as suffocating. For his part, Hannibal seemed to sense his discomfort and gently led him inside with a light touch on his elbow, preventing Will from reluctantly taking his leave.

“Your ear hasn’t been medicated yet,” Hannibal reminded him. “Allow me.”

It wasn’t long before Will sat in front of him, restless and uncertain, while Hannibal sanitized a cotton swab and set to cleanse his wound.

“You ought to have had it treated when you reached my office, if not before then,” Hannibal softly admonished him, eyes intent on the traces of blood and gunpowder. “I assessed my own conditions before you arrived, accepted local anesthetic and antiseptic for my leg, and let you take me to the police station,” he added. “I was distracted.”

It was arguably ridiculous that Will felt chastised for having forgotten about his own injuries, except that Hannibal was subtly reprimanding him for having  _ neglected  _ to remind him about the blood drying on his ear, the chide implicit but clear.

Will still felt remorseful enough as it was for having dragged him into his ferocious world, where felines were sleek and lethal, rather than tame and collected creatures, and where death was frequent and often unspeakably violent. It was heartening to let Hannibal delicately trace his skull for hidden damage and discreetly smell his lesion for possible infections.

It occurred to Will that the extensive care could have been unwarranted, but somehow soothing for Hannibal. It wasn’t unheard of for unsettled individuals to seek easement in physical contact, as the psychiatrist himself certainly knew. The clinging might have been a sign of his state of partial shock.

_ He should purr_, Will abruptly thought. Studies demonstrated that purring was an effective self-comforting behavior for domestic cats, that the frequency range between which common purrs fluctuated, between 20 and 140 Hz, had been proven to bear medical benefits on the body. It would improve his healing, lower his blood pressure. It would help.

“You should purr,” he stated, and belatedly realized how inappropriate that sounded.

Catpeople didn’t just purr on command.

Hannibal ceased to inspect his scalp, fingers entangled in Will’s hair as the catman silently considered the words with an unreadable expression. He seemed to come to a decision when the corners of his lips turned slightly upwards.

“I suppose I’ve been a little overbearing,” Hannibal conceded, hushing Will with a placating gesture before he could attempt to better explain himself. “I do tend to become more tactile when I’m in distress, but you need not concern yourself. I wouldn’t want you to worry about me.”

Will almost snorted in his face. “Not like I can help it.”

Not when traces of blood still covered his chin.

Hannibal briefly held his gaze, before Will lowered his own. It was still hard to make himself look straight into his eyes, however calming the even-tempered catman normally was.

“Then I guess the most fitting solution would be to resort to reciprocal tending,” he replied, tone low and confidential.

Will didn’t expect to feel a wide tongue on the side of his face shortly thereafter.

It took him several seconds to realize that Hannibal was in fact grooming him.

At first, he wasn’t even sure that  _ grooming  _ was the right term. It felt unobtrusive and uplifting, repetitive and mildly reposeful, very different from the awkward attempts there had been with his father during his childhood. The stray catman had preferred to teach his socially inept son how to fish to increase his chances of ever finding a decent mate that would keep him, possibly groom him in his stead. Predictably, the long-term investment hadn’t yielded the desired results.

It had been quite some time since Will had last felt rough licks and calloused hands on his hair and skin, it arguably never really happened in his adult life. He could tell that his father had been putting effort into his attempts, seldom and uncomfortable as they came, but the unhurried, thorough attention that Hannibal was giving to the fur on his sore ear, his tense neck and his clenched jaw persuaded Will that their current predicament was the real deal, and that it had no whatsoever pretense of being ascribed to  _ family business_. It felt personal, though.

When Will noticed the meek vibration that Hannibal leisurely emitted, perfectly calm and at ease with the telling sound that came from his throat, the air became thicker to inhale.

It didn’t fluster Will. If anything, the murmuring sound elicited his own timid purring in response. He ached to knead the supple seat of his chair, but it would be terribly impolite to ruin the fabric with his sharp nails.

Hannibal seemed pleased to hear his contentment, and expressed his own marking Will with gentling pheromones on his cheeks and forehead and collarbone, and Will remained motionless on the spot, putting up with it as stoically as he could, resisting the urge to lick the small cut on the bridge of his nose in turn.

He feared that asking Hannibal about their intertwining tails would disrupt the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for fic requests to celebrate the 300 followers of [Ao3Hannigram](https://twitter.com/ao3hannigram) and was prompted “Hannibal being clingy and Will putting up with it lol,” which took an unexpected turn, but I kind of like how it evolved.  
> I wasn’t kidding about the book. Let me know if you’re interested, or if you spot errors I should fix.  
> [Find me elsewhere](https://cinnamaldeide.carrd.co/). [Post on Twitter](https://twitter.com/Cinnamaldeide/status/1300056574614999040?s=20).


End file.
